


'cause you know i love the players, and you love the game

by theheadgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Multi, OT3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Prompt Fill, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadgirl/pseuds/theheadgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for MsSedusa: "Percy is dating Marcus and Oliver, both of whom live with Percy and are all sexually intimate but Oliver and Marcus are only driftingly romantically interested in each other. Mostly, they just act like the biggest rivals ever, making everything a 'friendly' (but not abusive, just over the top) competition."</p><p>Marcus kisses Percy after a game. The tabloids make a fuss, and Oliver is not pleased. Clearly, the only way to settle who's the best is with a good old-fashioned, naked wrestling match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'cause you know i love the players, and you love the game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MsSedusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsSedusa/gifts).



In a sea of black and red, Ginny Weasley is a single, defiant spot of green and gold, her Holyhead Harpies t-shirt standing out like a beacon. It makes her easy to spot, at least, but it also makes Percy more than a little concerned for her safety. He doesn't think any of the Ballycastle supporters would actually _try_ anything, but people are starting to stare at her like they can't figure out why she's there. Ginny isn't oblivious to the attention, but it's clear she doesn't care about it. All the same, Percy picks his way quickly through the crowd, making his "excuse me"s and "pardon me"s. He claims the empty seat next to his sister and holds out his hard-won caddy of butterbeer and roasted nuts.

"Thanks, Perce," she says, plucking a nut from one of the bags and popping it into her mouth. "Ready to let Mum pack us snacks yet?"

"It's against stadium rules to bring in outside food," Percy replies.

"When that," she taps the skin on his cheekbone, already growing pink in the prelude to a sunburn, "turns into a proper burn, again, I'm going to remind you that you said that."

"Do that, and I'll remind you of that couple we saw at Puddlemere last week. They had outside food, and they got kicked out of the stadium."

"I think it was because they were taking off each other's clothes in the middle of the game, not that they'd snuck in snacks." 

"They still broke the rules," Percy points out. "If they hadn't brought in their own beer, they wouldn't have been in a state to take off their clothes."

"Not at sixteen Sickles a bottle," Ginny agrees, grinning. She reaches for the bag of nuts and takes another two, her brown eyes turning to the sky. "Perfect day to play. I wish we had a game today. I'd love to be out in this."

Percy shudders. "I'll pass on that. I think the day can be enjoyed perfectly well on the ground."

"Dating two Quidditch players and neither of them can get you on a broom," Ginny marvels. "Unbelievable."

Before Percy can begin a well-practiced rant about the many virtues of not getting up on a cleaning apparatus and discovering interesting ways to fall off it, a whistle blows and the announcer's voice rings out over the stadium.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, wizards and witches of all ages! Welcome to today's exciting exhibition of ... THE WIMBOURNE WASPS!"

Seven black-and-yellow-robed figures fly out from ground level, while the stadium explodes with noise. "Patel! Anderson! Lewis! O'Callaghan! Gray! McIntyre! Aaaand ... WOLFF!" 

The Wasps face each side of the stadium, cheering or booing, and wave, before falling back into a line in front of the majority black and yellow-clad crowd across from Percy and Ginny. 

"VERSUS! THE BALLYCASTLE BATS!"

Now, seven red-and-black-robed players come out, flying out into the stadium. "Mercier! Flint! Collins! Henderson! King! Whelan! Aaaand ... MILNE!"

As before, the players greet each side of the stadium, and one of the players scans the section very carefully before spotting Percy and pointing a pair of finger-guns at him. Ginny hollers in approval, because she apparently hates her brother, pointing at him and giving Flint a double thumbs-up. Percy tries to vanish into his chair, but with very little success. The players swirl away, and with another blast of the referee's whistle, the game begins.

It's a fast-paced one - Anderson - Flint - Collins - a daring steal by Patel - Henderson and King showing near-deadly aim with the Bludgers today, don't you think - MILNE SPOTS THE SNITCH - no, she's feinting, she's getting Wolff off-track - Lewis - Collins - Flint - TEN POINTS TO THE BALLYCASTLE BATS - 

Percy is on his feet with the rest of the section, cheering, and when Marcus points a second set of finger-guns at him, he only looks like he'd moderately like to vanish into the floor.

The Bats pull ahead, thanks to more clever playing by the Chasers, and the spot-on accuracy of the Beaters, and when Georgina Milne finally grabs the Snitch from nearly right under Conrad Wolff's nose, the Ballycastle supporters lose their collective minds. Even Ginny is screaming and pumping her fist along with the rest of them, even though it means that Ballycastle will likely be facing the Harpies come the post-season. All the better. It'll be a real fight.

As the bleachers begin to clear out, Percy gathers their rubbish and drops it in the bin by the stairs on the ground. Ginny waits with a tinge of impatience, glancing over at the locker room, where a larger and larger group of fans crowds outside. When they make it over, the players are just stepping out, and Marcus spots them immediately. His mouth twists into a smirk, and he pushes through the crowd. Before Percy or Ginny can say a word, Marcus latches his arms around Percy's waist, scoops him into the air, and plants a kiss right on his mouth. Flashbulbs pop in Percy's peripheral vision in the moment before his eyes close in reaction to the kiss, but then they spring open again as he pulls back. 

"Marcus, what are you doing?" It comes out as a hiss. Marcus' smirk doesn't move.

"Celebrating a good game with my boyfriend. Is that a crime?"

"Let go of me!" With a wholly undignified squirm, the redhead wriggles out of Marcus' embrace, adjusting his tie and tugging at his waistcoat to make sure it hasn't been mussed by too much enthusiasm. He looks for Ginny, to see how she's reacted to this latest indignity, but she's chatting with Sebastian Collins, one of Ballycastle's Chasers, and though he doubts she missed it entirely, his earful is delayed for now.

"It was a good game, wasn't it?" he asks, turning his attention back to Marcus, since he doesn't seem inclined to attack again. It does precisely what he'd hoped it would, attracting Carolina Whelan into the conversation about the game, and allowing Percy to nod, smile, and "mm-hmm" when necessary, while he worries about just how much those flashbulbs saw.

 

The other shoe doesn't drop until three days later, when Percy comes into his office after lunch to find a copy of _Witch Weekly_ on his desk. There's a sticky note on the cover that says, "Page 26! Daisy xx"

Making a mental note to lock his office when he goes to lunch, Percy pushes his chair out and sits, opening the magazine and finding page 26.

It's only a half page article - the top half is about Celestina Warbeck's latest Diagon Alley shopping spree - but the picture is right there, Percy and Marcus caught in a silent, endless loop of lifting, kissing, and pushing away. Percy is relieved to see that he looks suitably scolding as they break the kiss. He looks to the story itself.

"'Marcus Flint Scores Again,'" it reads. "'Quaffles weren't the only thing in the air this last Saturday after the Ballycastle Bats thoroughly trounced the Wimbourne Wasps. It looks like it was joined by its good friend, Love, as evidenced by the antics of Chaser Marcus Flint, 26, and the Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic Percy Weasley, 25.'"

"Antics?" Percy says aloud, temporarily more horrified by that than his love life being splashed across _Witch Weekly_. 

"'Now, now, Mr. Flint, don't you know that sort of celebration is best had in private?'" 

His eyes go back to the picture. As far as pictures go, it's not a bad one ... but he's going to have to have a strong word with Marcus about public displays of affection - and an equally strong one with Daisy about spreading this sort of trash at the office. He picks up the magazine and moves to throw it out - then hesitates, changes his mind, and puts it in his briefcase. His mum is probably going to want a copy.

 

Although he didn't think it would be possible, there is actually a third shoe, and it drops that Wednesday. It's a rare free evening - Percy isn't staying late at the Ministry, and neither Oliver nor Marcus have practice or a game that night. It’s rather lovely. 

In fact, Percy feels quite like a cat that's found the just the right spot of sunshine. They're all three on the magically-enlarged couch, his head on Oliver's lap while he studies Quidditch plays, and his feet draped over Marcus' legs while he reads something on medicinal magic. It's perfect, and Percy thinks he could spend at least the rest of the week like this, if not the rest of humanity's existence. Besides the obvious perks of dating two people, there's also the fact that you get twice as many human pillows, which really ought to be in the literature. He's nearly asleep, brain quietly whirring over what would be most usefully included in a brochure on polyamorous relationships, when Oliver suddenly speaks up.

"I don't like it."

Percy groans slightly, because talking means he has to listen, and listening is counterproductive to sleeping. 

"Congratulations," Marcus replies. "Any other vague declarations you'd like to make, or was that it?"

Oliver shifts under Percy's head, and from the twisting of his torso, he's probably turning to face Marcus. Good, maybe they'll talk to each other about it and he can get back to his own agenda. 

"You know bloody well what I mean, Marcus. That little stunt you pulled after the game on Saturday? It got covered in _Witch Weekly_." 

Hell's bells. Maybe if he buries his face a little deeper into Oliver's thigh, he can not be here for this. 

"What?" There's scornful laughter bubbling underneath Marcus' voice. "Kissing my boyfriend after I win a game is a stunt now?"

"Our boyfriend," Oliver corrects him sharply. "And getting photographed when you do it, so if he's seen out with me, people will think he's cheating on you and it'll be a big scandal? That's the stunt."

"Not much of a stunt. I'm just better at giving the media what they want."

Percy can practically hear Oliver's hackles rise. "You're not better at anything."

Marcus does laugh at that. "That's arguable. We could ask someone who'd know best, if you'd like to settle this." 

Oh, no. Perhaps if he plays dead? He remembers hearing that's a defense mechanism for certain animals. Maybe it has the same effect on hyper-competitive Quidditch players. 

"Perce." A hand on his shoulder, gentle. "You awake?"

"If I say no, will you leave me out of this?" Percy asks, his voice muffled by Oliver's jeans. 

"I think Marcus might use you as a puppet then."

With a groan, Percy sits up, drawing his legs off of Marcus' lap and reaching for his glasses, settling them on his nose and blinking to focus his vision. "So what am I doing now?"

"Oliver thinks he's better than me," Marcus replies. "So we're asking you."

"Better at what?" Percy asks flatly. "Because if it's making a scene, I'm afraid you do have the advantage."

"Ha!" Marcus says to Oliver, who immediately snaps back, "That's not a good trait, you know."

"Sounds like someone's got a green-eyed monster on his shoulder," Marcus says, his smirk returning. 

"Sounds like someone's a, a, someone who really needs attention," Oliver returns, which lacks something in snappiness but gets his point across.

"I'm not listening to this," Percy announces, getting up. "Since apparently I'm not able to nap, I'm going to get some work done. You had better have this sorted out before bedtime." He gives them both meaningful looks, then sweeps into his study. 

It's about forty-five minutes later when he hears something he can't ignore. The other sounds of the house - footsteps, voices, doors opening and closing - he'd easily been able to filter out while he worked. This one, though, he responds to immediately. 

"Perce?" It's Oliver's voice, and it's coming from the bedroom. He doesn't sound like he's in pain, or angry, or anything that would set off warning bells. Percy sets down his quill and taps some powder onto the parchment so the ink won't smear when he rolls it up later, then gets up and goes to the bedroom.

"Is everything o - oh." His voice trails off and his cheeks pink at the, frankly, rather _delectable_ sight before him. Both Marcus and Oliver have stripped down, and their muscles - their whole bodies, in fact - are gleaming, apparently with very carefully and thoroughly applied oil.  
He has to remind himself to swallow and moisten his suddenly dry mouth.

"Oliver can't come to terms with the fact that one of us is clearly superior, and it's not him," Marcus explains, looking immensely satisfied with the reaction they've gotten from Percy. 

"And Marcus can't seem to grasp that it's not him," Oliver continues, giving Marcus a haughty look. "So we're letting you decide."

"Am - " Percy swallows, tries again. His eyes keep switching from one to the other, clearly wanting to take as much in as possible. "Is this how I'm meant to judge? Because I'm, ah, I'm sorry to say, but right now it looks like a draw to me." 

He steps forward, hand extended to touch an oiled-up pectoral muscle, but Marcus and Oliver draw back, closer to the bed. Percy stops as well, looking a bit like a kid who's had his toy taken from him.

"This is only part of it," Oliver explains. He points at a chair from the dining room, now positioned next to the bed. "The judge sits there."

Although he feels he'd judge much better getting up close and personal with the subjects he's meant to be judging, Percy obediently steps back to the chair and sits down. Marcus' eyes trail down his body to the already noticeable bulge in his pajama trousers, and he nods approvingly. 

"It's a show of strength," Marcus says. "Oliver and I will wrestle, and you'll tell us who was better."

"Are you sure I have to sit over here?" Percy asks, and he almost doesn't sound like he's whining. 

"Best seat in the house," Oliver says, and winks. They move over to the bed, and as Marcus moves to kneel on it, Percy sees a brief reflection of light that says they put an Imperturbable Charm on the bed, which means the oil will stay on the combatants, not in the bedclothes. He settles back in his chair, hands coming to rest in his lap, ready to enjoy the show.

"Three," says Oliver. 

"Two," Marcus continues. 

"One!" they both say too quickly, but still at the same time, and then they lunge for each other.

For all the growls and threats they're making, it has much more in common with puppies scuffling than any real fight for dominance. Hands and feet are liberally applied, but the actual focus seems to be getting either Marcus or Oliver on his back, the other atop him, their faces barely an inch apart, their oiled and muscular chests pressed together. They hold that tableau - that lovely, beautiful picture - for five, maybe ten seconds (and Percy uses that time to frantically commit the sight to memory), then the “brawl” begins again. At one point, Marcus has Oliver on his stomach, wrists pinned in front of him, and he looks at Percy, makes sure he's watching, and slowly rocks his hips against the curve of Oliver's rear. Percy makes a soft, almost pained noise, and Oliver growls and squirms out, oil and sweat allowing him to escape. At another point, Oliver and Marcus are chest-to-chest, kneeling on the bed, and Oliver has Marcus' hands pinned behind his back. They're both panting for breath, skin shining, and their faces are so close it feels like it would only take the effort of a breath to press them together. Percy's hand presses more firmly against the bulge in his trousers, his hips trying to arch against the friction, and he half-wonders if it would interrupt the game if he got up to get undressed. Merlin knows he's woefully overdressed, and he feels stifled, even in just the t-shirt and pajamas. He can't help another little sound as his questing fingers find just that sweet spot.

"Oi," Marcus says, glancing over, "I think our judge is distracted." 

Oliver looks over, too, and grins. "Found something a bit more interesting to do than judge, eh?"

"I'm only human," Percy replies, still managing to sound sniffy, despite the circumstances. 

"Maybe that's our hint to stop," Oliver suggests. 

Percy shoots straight up. "What?!" 

Marcus starts laughing. "Figured you might want a closer look at this point in the proceedings," he points out. "Of course, if you'd rather not ..."

"No, no, I'd rather; I'd really rather," Percy says quickly. He gets up and, unhesitatingly peels off his t-shirt, then pushes down his pajama trousers and underwear in one smooth movement, letting his erection finally spring free. 

"Well?" Oliver says, and lets go of Marcus' wrist so he can gesture to the bed. All too eagerly, the redhead joins them. Oliver insinuates himself behind Percy, hands moving to his nipples, grinding himself against Percy's rear. Marcus moves in to kiss him, calloused fingers coming down to wrap around Percy's aching cock, and when he finally starts to stroke bare skin, Percy has to break the kiss to let out a series of gasping moans. Marcus grins like wildfire and puts his fingers under Percy's chin, tilting his head back and pressing their mouths together again. Their tongues fight, and Marcus pulls back just enough to catch the redhead's lower lip between his teeth, and Percy makes another choked gasping sound as the bolt of pleasure shoots right between his legs and into the friction of Marcus' hand. 

He breaks the kiss to get some air, gasping for it, then arcs back against Oliver to stifle himself on his mouth, too. Oliver's mouth is wide and hot, his kisses less aggressive than Marcus' but no less enthusiastic. One hand leaves Percy's chest and moves around to his rear, and an incantation that's said mostly into Percy's mouth covers his fingers with a generous dollop of lubricant. One finger begins to work its way inside, and Oliver barely hesitates before he brushes against Percy's prostate. The redhead pulls away to let out a brief, strangled cry, his hips caught between trying to press back against Oliver's fingers and thrust into Marcus' hand, and when he can't get his body to do both to his satisfaction, he makes a noise that he will deny to the death is a whimper. He feels Oliver's chest jump in an unvoiced laugh, and then that finger is moving again, and Marcus is stroking him, and it's all he can do to try and not wake the whole block of flats.

By the time Oliver is up to three fingers, Percy is squirming, flushed, and a bit on the desperate side, his body aching to be filled. 

"Okay, okay," Oliver murmurs in his ear, fingers still slowly working inside of him. He glances at Marcus. "Get off the bed."

Marcus does so, but takes his sweet time so no one can accuse him of obeying orders from Oliver Wood. He stands, hands on his hips, watching the other two men with a faint, pleased twist to his lips.

Oliver draws his fingers out of Percy, moving his hands to rest on the redhead's narrow hips. Percy adjusts himself against Oliver's chest, then lifts himself so Oliver is lined up with his entrance. He's prepared and lubricated enough that there's only a slight burn and stretch as Oliver pushes inside, and Percy can focus exclusively on the pleasure. His toes curl as he settles fully onto Oliver, and he gasps, shuddering, luxuriating in the feeling of fullness. It's agony to just sit there and not move, but they're not done yet. 

Marcus strolls up to them like he's bellying up to the bar, hunger in his dark eyes. Percy meets his gaze, slowly running his tongue around his lips. Marcus groans, then reaches out and twists his fingers into a few stray red curls - not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that he’s not messing about. Percy leans forward, lips parting, and swallows Marcus’ cock. Marcus groans deep in his chest, and his other hand moves to press into Percy’s hair as well. Oliver starts to move, then, and Percy takes the hint as well. One hand wraps around himself, and he meets Marcus’ eyes as he matches Oliver’s rhythm.

It seems like a rather embarrassingly short time later that Percy's soft gasps have increased in quantity and intensity, and he shudders, the movements of his hand on himself becoming more and more erratic. In an attempt to stifle himself, he takes Marcus in again, all the way down, and clutches hard at the bedspread with his other hand. Oliver seems to recognize the behavior for what it is, and he responds in kind, moving against Percy faster and harder. A moment later, Percy's hand freezes, speeds up, then he's writhing between them, spilling over his thumb and onto his stomach. Oliver makes a sort of snarl of approval before he grabs onto Percy's hips more tightly, and Marcus watches, fingers pressing more firmly into those red curls. 

It's hard to tell if it's planned or just one of those interesting coincidences, but just at the moment Marcus starts to swear a blue streak, Oliver's moans become louder, and for a moment, their eyes meet and Marcus gives him a slightly unhinged grin that clearly says _race you_.

It seems seems they cross the finish line at the same time, because as Marcus hits his climax, pouring down Percy's throat, Oliver yells as his washes over him, holding Percy's hips so hard there's red marks on the pale skin.

Breathless, Percy collapses against Oliver, and Oliver puts his hand on Percy's chest, feeling his heart pounding against his chest like it might try to escape. Marcus leans down and kisses the redhead slowly, almost gently. They disentangle from each other once they have the energy to do so, and settle onto the bed.

"So?" Marcus asks, propping his head on his hand and looking down at Percy. 

"So what?" Percy asks a bit sleepily. 

"So who won?" Oliver says, picking up the thread. "You're our judge."

Percy stretches, lacing his fingers over his head and arching his back. "I don't think I got enough useful data," he replies, completely straight-faced. "In order to accurately make that decision, I would need to collect far more information." His face is serious, but the twinkle - and the want - in his eye is unmistakable. 

Marcus and Oliver look at each other, then at Percy, then Marcus leans down and grabs one of his ankles. 

"Get your legs up, then; we've got work to do."

 

Two weeks later, another issue of _Witch Weekly_ finds its way to his desk. The sticky note this time reads, "Naughty! Page 14. Daisy xx"

Almost afraid to see what it is this time, Percy opens the magazine like it's loaded and turns to page fourteen. 

"Oliver Wood's Latest Catch!" the headline blares. "It looks like a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin rivalry since their days at Hogwarts isn't the only one Puddlemere Keeper Oliver Wood, 25, and Bats Chaser Marcus Flint, 26, have anymore - now it looks like they're also competing for the heart of Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic Percy Weasley (also 25)! Good luck, boys - may the best man win!"

The picture shows Oliver pulling Percy down by his tie and kissing him firmly, then Percy pulling back and sputtering, while Penelope Clearwater clearly tries to contain her laughter in the background.

Percy sighs and closes the magazine, unable to keep a small smile from crossing his face. 'May the best man win,' indeed. He guesses that _Witch Weekly_ doesn’t know what’s obvious to him. 

He may not be the best man, but he's won.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MsSedusa for the cute prompt and letting me do with it what I would! This is a super-fun 'verse - who knows, I may do an entire Taylor Swift-themed series. :D


End file.
